


a knight in a tweed armour

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Protective Hannibal, Therapy Years, bedannibalprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Bedelia's terrible date turns worse and someone steps in to defend her. We all know who that someone is.





	a knight in a tweed armour

This was not her _best_ decision.

Bedelia’s fingers wrapped around an empty wine glass, tapping on the bowl, and she had to stop herself from putting too much pressure on its surface. The large dining room was brimming with chatter and clinking of crystal, but all of that was drown by the jarring voice of the man in front of her. Her _date_ for the evening. Her lips pressed tightly, blue eyes burning cold as she looked at him with annoyance. The thought of calling it a date made her want to groan, but she settled for a deep inhale.

“And then the intern had the nerve to take _my_ parking space,” the man threw his arm to the side to emphasise whatever point he was trying to make and Bedelia’s eyes shifted to the glass in his hand, luckily empty, as he continued to gesture erratically.

The blonde man in his forties could be considered good looking by some, but Bedelia found his features blunt. And he had a personality to match it. Michael had persuaded Bedelia for months and she had only agreed to go out with him to put an end to the endless messages and emails. A dinner celebrating the retirement of one of the senior surgeons felt like as good an occasion as any. Proverbial two birds with one stone, but now Bedelia felt like she was the one being knocked out cold. Her initial impression had only gotten worse as numerous glasses of alcohol were disappearing from his hand in an alarming speed.

“At least she should have the decency to apologise, after all, I am a consultant,” he added with a polished smile, displaying a perfect set of shining teeth, no doubt used to entice great many impressionable women.

Bedelia’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, looking at the faces of other guests instead. She had already made her rounds, with her _date_ hot on her heels, making small conversation with her former colleagues; sadly, there was no one interesting who could save her evening. Still, her eyes scrutinised the gathered crowd as if ensuring she did not miss anyone. Not admitting to herself that she was actually searching for _someone_. She thought she had seen him earlier, a glimpse of sharp cheekbones amongst the group of men, but she must have been mistaken.

Not finding what she was looking for, her eyes reluctantly returned to her present company. Spotting a passing waiter, Michael had managed to exchange his empty glass for a full one, unmindful to obtain one for her. No matter, she was not in need of another drink; her headache was increasing by a minute and she did not want to make it worse. Bedelia gazed at the clock above the mantlepiece, trying to decide what would be the best time to leave without being rude.

“Perhaps we could spend the next weekend on my yacht.”

 She decided that the time was now.

“I am afraid I will have to pass on the invitation,” Bedelia stated politely and placed her empty glass on a nearby table, “Thank you for the evening, Michael, but I should be going.”

“So soon?” the man looked at her, genuinely surprised by her words. Clearly the fact that she was not engaging in conversation was not enough of an indicator of her discontent.

“Yes,” Bedelia did not even bother to come up with an excuse, it would go unnoticed anyway.

“But we are having such a good time,” he insisted stubbornly and Bedelia couldn’t help but raise an incredulous eyebrow.

“I am sure you can continue to do so yourself,” she retorted.

“I will drive you home later,” he pressed on, ignoring her remark.

“You should not be driving anyone,” she glimpsed at another drained glass in his hand, “Or yourself, for that matter,” she added indifferently, not really caring for his wellbeing.

He stared at her in disbelief, as though she was the first woman ever to dismiss his advances. Bedelia felt almost sorry for the ones that didn’t.

“Good night, Michael,” and not waiting for his reply, she turned to leave, her hair and dress swooshing softly behind her with renewed lightness.

Bedelia sensed her headache dispersing with each step she took, but her relief was short lived.

“Oh, come on Bedelia,” she heard a crossed voice behind her and suddenly a hand forcefully grabbed her wrist, pulling her back.

Bedelia turned at once, eyes burning fiercely, looking at the drunk man holding her arm, but before she got a chance to react, another hand appeared instantly, taking hold of the man’s wrist in turn. It all happened in split of a second and the other man seemed to have materialised out of thin air.

Bedelia’s eyes shifted, startled, now looking at the familiar stature of Hannibal Lecter, standing between her and Michael. The face was familiar, but the expression was unlike what she had seen before. His features appeared to be somehow sharper, his eyes gleamed menacingly as he stared at the man, unblinking.

“Doctor Du Maurier does not desire for your further company,” his voice sounded colder than usual, each word like a biting touch of frost.

Michael appeared even more surprised than her, his reflexes no doubt impaired by the copious amounts of alcohol, gaping at the unknown man with his mouth half open, forgetting about his hold on Bedelia’s wrist.

But Hannibal did not.

His grip slowly tightened and Bedelia could see the strength behind it; an image of bones breaking under pressure emerged in her mind, as improbable as it was, and she was almost expecting to hear them cracking. But a sudden cry of pain came instead, bringing the confrontation to a close as Michael let go of Bedelia’s wrist and was now rubbing his arm, muttering to himself. Instinctively, Bedelia pulled her arm away, keeping it close to her chest.

“Fine, it’s _your_ loss,” the disgruntled date gave them both a final ‘you two deserve each other’ stare in a failed attempt to recover a shred of his honour and left.

Hannibal’s eyes, still unblinking, closely followed his departure, like a predator marking his prey. Only when the man disappeared among a cluster of people, he turned his attention back to Bedelia.

“Did he hurt you, Doctor Du Maurier?” his voice now softer, the former glacial tone had melted away without a trace.

Bedelia realised that she was still clutching her own hand. Hannibal’s hands in turn were balled up in fists, his knuckles slowly turning white.

“No, I am fine,” she looked at her wrist and let her arm fall to the side. There were no marks.

Hannibal smiled, unclenching his fists and relaxing, his eyes once again turning to melted ambers she knew so well.

In the dust of the settled encounter, Bedelia’s unreleased annoyance still burned steadily, but now there was no one to direct it at. Or was there? Hannibal meant well, and she should be grateful, but… _she does not need to be saved_. They stood in silence as Bedelia attempted to gather her composure, feeling Hannibal’s eyes studying her carefully.

“Would you like a drink, Doctor?” he asked finally, sensing her apprehension.

“No, thank you. I think I need some fresh air,” she remembered where she was going in the first place and turned in the direction of the terrace.

Hannibal nodded in acknowledgement and kept his distance, but followed her nonetheless, like a knight in a tweed armour, ensuring no one else disturbed her. He opened the glass door for her and stepped outside behind her.

Away from the clamour of the party and the confinement of the room, Bedelia inhaled deeply, feeling some of the pressure easing; the cool evening air slowly calmed her and cleared her muddled mind. Her sharp instincts returned with fresh vigour as she tried to put the occurrence behind her while new insisting questions demanded answering.

“I did not realise you were in attendance, Hannibal,” she now looked at her patient with her usual scrutiny.

“Doctor Morris was one of my mentors,” he explained simply.

“But I did not notice you around,” she pressed on. And she would know, she looked _very closely_.

“I saw you had _company_ ,” his eyes briefly turned a shade darker, “I did not want to interrupt,” he admitted with certain hesitation.

“As you had seen, it was not a great company,” she could taste the bitterness of her own words. As much as she wished to forget, she still felt the man’s fingers wrapping around her wrist. She resisted the urge to touch it.

Hannibal’s mouth twitched slightly, but he said nothing, merely watching her with the same attentiveness as before. But she was no longer annoyed, now it felt curiously reassuring.

Another deep breath and she collected herself once more, yet the strange emotions were too close to the surface of her skin, making her feel exposed.

“I think I had enough excitement for one evening,” she concluded and prepared to bid Hannibal goodbye. But he remained staring at her with a yet unknown resolve.

“Would you allow me to accompany you home?” he asked politely, choosing his words carefully, “I want to make sure you are safe.”

_She was safe_. Bedelia waited for her stubbornness to take charge, but it didn’t. Instead, she considered his proposal and found it suddenly appealing.

“Yes,” the word left her lips unexpectedly and Hannibal’s face brightened in an instant.

They left the house together, Hannibal again by her side, standing closer this time. The car arrived the moment they stepped out of the front door. His Bentley, she knew the car well, now with an addition of a hired driver. Hannibal held the door open for her and soon they both found themselves in the spacious back seat. He quietly instructed the driver about the change of route and they departed right away.

The car moved soundlessly through the empty streets and Bedelia was silent, focused on the passing lamps, a blur of golden streams, making the journey seem like a dream. She knew Hannibal was watching her, but this too felt like a part of the hallucination. A fitting surreal ending to a perplexing evening.

They had arrived at Bedelia’s home in no time, like a sudden shift in her dream, and she was awakened from her contemplation when the driver opened the door for her. The unanticipated evening breeze made her shiver and only now she noticed how warm the inside of the car was. She turned to look at Hannibal, but he remained seated, not wanting to exceed her permission. He kept his word and escorted her safely. She knew she should not worry about Michael paying her a visit. But as the invasive cold air continued to wrangle with the fleeting warmth, she was reluctant to leave. She was reluctant to be alone.

“Would you like to come in for drink?” she asked, her voice somehow quiet.

“Yes,” Hannibal responded with a kind half smile. He got out of the car and was swiftly at her side, offering his hand.

Bedelia hesitated for a second, but then let her hand rest in his as she stepped out onto the pavement. His thumb gently brushed over her skin and he held her hand with utmost delicacy, a startling contrast to the display of strength she witnessed before.

As they entered her house, Bedelia was overcome by the continuing strangeness of this situation, having her patient here at such a late hour. Perhaps Hannibal shared her sentiment; he was patiently standing in the hallway, waiting for her to invite him further. This was not a therapy session after all.

She made him follow her into the kitchen, empty and quiet. Too quiet even, the stillness was almost as overpowering as the clatter of the party before, making Bedelia feel suddenly out of place. The sound of her heels against floor seemed to reverberate louder than normally and the distance between the counter and the cabinets appeared somehow longer.

Reaching for the glasses, she was ready to ask Hannibal to choose a wine as per usual, but she stifled the words before they reached her lips. _This was not a therapy session._

“Would you like to sit down?” she asked him politely as she poured them both a glass of Pinot Noir.

“No, this is fine, thank you,” he took the glass and inclined his head in gratitude.

Bedelia took a mouthful of her wine, watching as Hannibal swirled his glass, examining the hue, before tasting it himself. They drank in silence, but it was a different kind of quietude, one she knew well, one that made her comfortable. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Bedelia began to relax, finally reclaiming the sensation of being at home.

She observed her patient anew; standing tall, enjoying his drink while his other hand rested idly on the counter. Her mind considered the events of the evening; his hand wrapping forcefully around the man’s arm and then holding hers so delicately. Her own hand twitched and she fought the impulse to slide it across the counter and touch his again.

Hannibal’s eyes were surveying her, the same quiet determination in his stare, now underlined with more evident worry.

“I hope you are all right, Doctor,” he spoke softly, his tone so sincere, the emotions she was trying to detain threatened to resurface afresh.

“I am fine,” she assured him, “Thank you. For what you did,” she finally said the words her pride had held back before.

“There is no need to thank me,” he smiled again, “That was-” he pressed his lips together, swallowing his anger, “ _an unacceptable_ behaviour. Any respectable man would be grateful for even a moment of your company.”

She nodded and averted her eyes, feeling an unwanted blush colouring her cheeks. She finished her wine in one swallow, hoping to disguise the pink as an effect of the alcohol.

“If you are feeling better, I should leave you to rest,” he stated courteously, placing the empty glass back on the counter.

A smile appeared on her lips for the first time this evening; she did feel better. And she was glad that he was there.

She walked him to the front door, her steps and mind significantly lighter than they had been when they first arrived.

“Good night, Doctor Du Maurier,” Hannibal paused before the entrance and turned to face her one last time.

She appraised his brilliant eyes, the ones that were watching over her all evening, and this time she did not stop her hand as it reached out and touched his. A spark of surprise passed through his face, but he reciprocated with the same tenderness as before, gently entwining his fingers with hers. Bedelia took a step closer and let her other hand slowly stroke his face before pulling him forward. Their lips met almost timidly, as if in disbelief, but soon they found their purpose, pressing firmly together. His kiss was as gentle as his touch and Bedelia’s body pressed against his, her legs suddenly unbalanced. Hannibal’s other hand rested on the small of her back, holding her steady, as their mouths continued to explore, deepening the kiss with each brush of skin against skin.

Bedelia took a sharp inhale when their lips parted, still cradling his cheek, astonished by her own boldness.

“I will never let anyone hurt you, Bedelia,” he whispered against her mouth and sealed the promise with a final caress of her lips.

Slowly and reluctantly, he released her from his embrace and reached for the door.

Bedelia watched it close behind him, her skin flushed brighter than before, hearing her own heart beat loudly in the empty hallway.

She had not heard from Michael again and soon forgot about him completely. The only thing she remembered from that night was Hannibal’s gentle touch and adoring lips.

**Author's Note:**

> It goes without saying that Michael has been taken care of, permanently. I can only imagine what Hannibal did to him after his aggression towards Bedelia. No one disrespects the woman he loves.  
> I am very, very weak for protective!Hannibal, which is 100% canon ("I feel protective of you"), so take that haters.


End file.
